The Last Spell 44.1

Cyrin didn’t know if he’d ever felt so cold.

Every instinct in him was begging him to run— it was all too much. The angered flame burning green in Shane’s eyes. The mix of scorn and pity Kaja’s gaze pinned him with. The stunned speechlessness that froze Dawn in place. The horrified guilt that clouded Clarity’s face. And the blood staining Mireya’s palms, a reminder of what his own hands would never be clean of, as she watched him with an expression of utter disbelief.

But he’d promised he wouldn’t run. It did not matter that he was broken glass on display, shattering in real time without the strength to put himself back together, let alone the space to do it in. He’d lost the right to ask for that sort of grace.

Mireya was the first to move, leaning toward Dawn to whisper something in her ear, and Cyrin’s stomach turned when he saw Dawn’s eyes widen. Carefully, like she thought the marble might crack under her feet, Mireya stepped toward them but stopped further away than they’d thought. Cyrin’s heart clenched— and then ached worse when she looked at them with uncertainty. They knew that look, but they’d never seen it on her face before. They wished they weren’t seeing it now.

“Are you really alive?” Mireya whispered.

Cyrin felt pain flare up in their chest, more brutal than the blows they’d felt there earlier. Didn’t she know how much that question hurt? How much time they’d spent trying to prove it was true?

“I really am,” they said faintly, quiet enough that they weren’t sure if they’d actually gotten the words out.

“But you can’t be,” Mireya pressed. “Not this time.”

Just like that, Cyrin wasn’t in the library anymore, still bloody from a fight, watched on all sides by two of the most important people in his life and three people who had every reason to hate him. He was a small child again, standing in front of his father, Allison, and Casper while they recoiled from his presence, and he was pleading just to be seen as alive. The lack of recognition in their eyes then had told him they saw a ghost in him. It matched the horror in Mireya’s gaze now.

Please, Cyrin prayed silently. Don’t put me through this again.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. He’d lost all power to speak, with the sob hidden in the back of his throat threatening to tell them all how badly he was falling apart.

“I know what the odds are like,” Clarity cut in quietly. “But that’s him.”

Something about the sound of her voice made them want to flinch. Shuddering, Cyrin tore their gaze away from Mireya and to her. Clarity was lingering back by Dawn, uncharacteristically subdued and pale as she watched them. The guilt-struck pain on her face showed that she could use a hug, or some word of assurance that things were going to be alright.

But they didn’t have either of those in them for her right now.

Mireya’s expression crumpled when they looked back to her, and they thought they saw her eyes glisten. For a terrible moment, Cyrin wasn’t sure what she’d do. And so they weren’t ready for her launching herself at them for the tightest hug they’d ever known from her.

Cyrin staggered for a moment, caught off guard, but he didn’t waste another second before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in closer. He knew the blood on her hands would be staining the suit over his shoulder blades, but he didn’t care. It became almost impossible not to cry as Mireya tucked her head under his chin.

“Missed you,” she said quietly.

Cyrin blinked away tears as he squeezed her tighter. Shane’s gaze was still burning through the back of his neck, but for a moment, that didn’t matter. Only this did.

“I missed you too,” he whispered.

He didn’t want to let go. He wasn’t quite ready when Mireya finally pulled away with reluctance, but he understood. There was much more happening here.

“What is she doing here?” Kaja cut in.

Like everyone else, Cyrin looked at Clarity, who faltered and dropped her gaze to the flamethrower in her hands.

“I’m here to help,” she said faintly.

Kaja scoffed. “Right, because you’ve been helpful thus far.”

“She actually means to,” Mireya said hesitantly. “I think. You might not like it, but I think we’re going to need her for what’s next.”

“Need her for what?” Shane asked sharply. “We already have the First Spell.”

Mireya’s gaze flicked to him, clearly not unexpecting his tone, but Cyrin knew she understood. She would’ve understood the moment she saw that blade at his throat.

“That’s good,” she said, a little delayed. “But we’ve also got to get into the fourth floor. The instructions on how to use it are in there. Clarity knows how to open the door.”

With such a simple sentence, she’d completely altered the room’s atmosphere. Cyrin drew in a stunned deep breath, brows furrowing. Shane’s expression suddenly shifted into shock.

“That door?” Shane pressed. “How?”

Clarity glanced at him, before quickly looking away again. It seemed like she wasn’t going to answer for a moment, until she finally whispered, “It’s flux.”

Cyrin had to frown deeper to hide the sickened grimace that wanted to surface on his face.

“Glad to see it’s good for something other than an attempted murder weapon,” Shane muttered.

“It’s not—” Clarity clamped her mouth shut, visibly gathering herself before trying again. “Flux can be anything, by definition. It is everything. It’s every kind of magic, all at once— and yet, it’s not really any of them.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kaja said plainly.

Clarity sighed. “There’s nine distinct types of magic, right? Except they aren’t really all that distinct. From what I can gather, flux is like… the gaps between them. We’ve been imagining magic as belonging in one of those nine boxes, but the edges of where they end and begin aren’t actually fully defined. They sort of… bleed out gradually into what we thought was nothing. Empty space between types. But that’s not empty space—that’s flux, binding them all together. Our current understanding is like thinking every number is an integer without realizing there’s an infinite amount of decimal values between them. Flux could open up a whole new world of magic theory.”

Something in Cyrin ached at hearing the reverence in her voice.

Clarity was a brilliant Alchemist, and this was her passion. They’d always had a feeling that she would go on to change the world, and when it happened one day, they’d wanted to be able to celebrate it with her. Not to wish that maybe, in another life, her talents wouldn’t be used for harm.

“So then… what’s the point of it?” Dawn asked quietly.

“What’s the point of water?” Clarity shrugged. “Nothing, to the universe. It wasn’t created with a purpose, by someone or for something. Life came along and decided it was crucial for survival. Likewise, flux doesn’t have an intended use. Its potential is sitting in our hands.”

“Do you want to let Sparrow define it?” Shane’s head was tilted challengingly as he asked the question.

Clarity was silent for a second as she looked at the ground, quietly shaking her head.

“No,” she said quietly. “Which is why I’d really like to get through that door before he wakes up. If you’ll let me.”

Shane made no move to agree, instead glancing at Sparrow’s unconscious body. Kaja walked over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I get it,” she said quietly, with just barely enough volume for Cyrin to hear. “I don’t trust her one bit either, but even though I don’t have any idea how her plan works, no one else even knows where to start on getting in. If she tries anything, I’ll snap her head off.”

Shane narrowed his eyes at Clarity. A tense silence fell over the library.

“Fine,” he muttered at last, turning around and walking right past Cyrin. “The stairs up are this way.”

Cyrin watched him leave with a sinking feeling, heart clenching in their chest. It took a moment for them to find the strength to follow.

They heard the others fall into step behind them, with Mireya closest by. Someone’s steps were speeding up, trying to near their side, and Cyrin winced in anticipation of it being Clarity. But to their surprise, when they turned, they were facing a hesitant Dawn.

“Cyrin,” Dawn started quietly, then paused. “Is it true that you’re a…”

She was going to say killer. She had to be, if what Mireya had whispered in her ear before was the context for Shane’s anger. Cyrin’s stomach turned.

“…a Bridger?” Dawn finished.

The surprise that hit them numbed any relief they could’ve felt. Blinking, Cyrin turned to Mireya with a questioning frown. “When did—”

“I didn’t tell her. Neither did Clarity. That was…” Mireya’s expression turned troubled for a moment. “That was an old friend. Dante.”

“Dante,” Cyrin echoed, not recognizing the name. “Who is this old friend, why haven’t I heard of them, and how do they know my family?”

“It’s… really complicated.” Mireya looked away. “It’ll have to wait.”

She’d never dodged a question quite like this before. Certainly not about something so crucially important to him. Out of nowhere, Cyrin suddenly felt cold.

“I’m sorry,” Dawn said softly. “I wasn’t meant to know. I won’t tell anyone.”

Cyrin sighed quietly. “It’s fine,” he said, although it wasn’t sure that was true. “Kaja and Shane already know. I don’t really care if Leilan and Kasumi find out, either.”

He couldn’t help but wonder where they were right now. The more he thought about that, the more that seemed like a problem— but Shane was already taking the stairs ahead, and Cyrin was forced to let the worry drop.

The spiral staircase to the fourth floor was elegant but unassuming, with a brass railing that twirled upwards until coming to a stop where the top step met a small platform against the wall. If Cyrin craned his head, he could see the outline of a simple wooden door— no, the door. The same door Shane had been talking about only ten minutes ago with awe in his voice, still the closest thing to being overjoyed Cyrin had seen from him. It had just happened, and yet it hurt to remember.

Hanging his head, Cyrin followed him up the stairs.

When they reached the platform, Clarity moved to the front of the group, reaching into her MagicBox. With morbid curiosity, Cyrin watched as she started to skillfully weave a Chant spell together, but she didn’t stop there. Clarity’s expression turned more and more focused, and Cyrin lost the ability to tell what she was doing with the spell, as the magic darkened into an impure, malicious gold. He couldn’t help but shudder at seeing that color again.

“What is it you’re actually doing?” Mireya’s tone, while intrigued, had a note of disgust she couldn’t seem to hide.

“It’s been hypothesized that the secret to getting this door open is ‘a bit of everything,’” Clarity said, not looking up from her work. “The most evident way of opening a magically sealed door would be to cast Acid on it, but that strategy has failed. So have more creative solutions, like casting Rationale on it to ‘convince’ the door to open. Because of this, magic theorists have said Summer probably made this door to respond to a particular hybrid spell that would act as a key. The problem is, without knowing if this mixed spell has two types, eight types, or any number in between— and with nine types of magic to choose from— the number of possible spell combinations adds up very fast. You’d waste lifetimes testing them all.”

“And so… flux is that everything,” Dawn finished. “The way to test every option instantaneously.”

“Right,” Clarity said. The flux in her hands was an ever glowing and dimming web of putrid magic, and despite his sickness, Cyrin found it hard to look away. “At least, that is theory. This is experiment— and hopefully, proof.”

The minute she lifted the spell to the ancient wood, the door reacted: it was like a spasm rocked through it, releasing an invisible shockwave Cyrin could feel in their bones. The doorframe glowed with a searing white light, and they had to look away quickly before its outline could burn itself into their eyes. When they looked back, blinking quickly, the door was still closed.

For a moment, no one in their group dared to move. Then Mireya reached forward, putting her hand on the door’s handle. It turned with a pitiful, metallic creak.

“Holy shit,” Kaja muttered.

Cyrin heard the breath that Shane sucked in through his teeth. All of a sudden, they weren’t sure if they were ready for this. Just before entering the Permafrost’s Fall, they’d felt the importance of the lost wonder they were about to step into, but that had been a meticulously documented site for all of its history. No one who had witnessed the mystery here had passed any of it down, and now they were closer to seeing it than anyone had in over nine centuries. It felt wrong to be one of the first since then.

“Are we—” Dawn started faintly.

“Beware of dust,” Kaja said, stepping forward and taking the handle from Mireya to push the door open. Even though her tone was bold, Cyrin saw how her other hand was a fist, shaking at her side.